


Wayfaring Stranger

by Schoolmarm32



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Mabari somewhere, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Culture Shock, Developing Relationship, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jim gets some respect!, Just Add Kittens, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Male Trevelyan Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Most of the 'ships...but some may pass in the night..., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Sexy times (eventually)...might need to change rating If I can bring myself to write it, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schoolmarm32/pseuds/Schoolmarm32
Summary: What happens when your well-planned life suddenly gets hijacked and you find yourself in another world? Will you crumble or will you thrive?  Meet Marli (pronounced Mahr-Lee) Joy Ellis, a bit of a prodigy, who desires a life of service to her country, but finds herself in another one instead. Will her love of duty, music, and sense of humor keep her sane when she's faced with a hole in the sky and swamped with her own grief? Will a certain Commander help her out of it? Can she help him? Will she be able to face this new life and some of her own unexpected secrets? With Andraste's guidance and a little help from her friends, she just might!
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Original Female Character(s), Lace Harding/Male Trevelyan
Kudos: 2





	1. Wayfaring Stranger

  
I awoke suddenly, pained and bruised, shielding my eyes from the bright glare of the sun, while huddled up in a ball. My ankle throbbed. A cool, crisp breeze ruffled my hair. I could smell the hints of autumn in the wind, but that was impossible. It was summer only yesterday. The bottom of my stomach dropped. I remembered last night, or what I thought was last night. I’d stepped out of the taxi in the early evening and trudged down the gravel path to the front door of my childhood home. It now stood empty, courtesy of a drunk driver whose nighttime revels had cut my father out of my life as surely as a surgeon’s saw amputates a limb. My soul was ragged and raw. We were to celebrate my graduation as Doctor of Physical Therapy in less than two weeks. I was to stay the next month at home and then report to Officer Training School and then on to my deployment as a Lieutenant on one of the Navy’s hospital ships. This was the last time we’d be together for a while. Now it would never happen. At the door, I dropped my suitcases with a thud and just stood. I froze. Opening it would inaugurate a new reality. One where my father did not exist. If I could just stay outside, in this frozen moment of eternity, my Dad would still be alive. But I had things to do… a funeral to organize, an entire house to sort through, items to store. So with reluctance, I opened the door, dragged in the suitcases, and headed to my old room. 

  
I flopped on the bed and was confronted with more memories. Some happy, some sad. The old corkboard with various photographs and smiling faces on the wall…the dresser with old jewelry in the box, assorted stuffed animals…and the half-filled perfume bottles from my mother. She’d given them all to me before she’d passed away from the breast cancer which ravaged her when I was 15. They just smelled “off” to her while she was on the chemo. She’d always loved perfumes that smelled of flowers. Lilac was her favorite. I sighed. That was an old wound. I still missed her terribly. She’d passed on her love of music (guitar, harp, flute—she could play almost anything really) to me, as well as a quirky sense of humor and a bright, dazzling smile. She told the greatest stories. She and I loved fairy tales of magic, knights, dragons, and damsels in distress. I had fond memories of sitting huddled in blankets with mugs of cider near the fire during the snowy winters and listening to her regale me with stories. When she told her stories, she was enthralling. 

  
She’d been tall, like me (though I was taller and almost reached 6 feet). Her hair was blond too, but her eyes were brown instead of blue and were touched by a sadness I couldn’t always understand. While growing up, she’d sometimes suffer from sporadic bouts of depression and panic. She called it “Heimweh”. Homesickness. Rarely did she speak of her home. Dad used to joke that she just appeared in his life “out of the clear blue sky” and he was smitten. He was older than her by about 15 years, but he’d courted her patiently. He told me that her family had died tragically in a fire and that she’d emigrated to the states while a young woman to start anew, across the sea on a new continent. Remembering it made her sad, so he didn’t pry and told me not to ask too many questions either. I could understand that, even as a small child. She’d lived in a rather isolated part of her country, on her small family farm. That explained her accent—she certainly didn’t speak with a soft southern speech of West Virginia. When I was small I wondered why she spoke so differently from my father and people I knew. She was old-fashioned, direct, and yet loving. She distrusted technology (no television growing up), didn’t drive, and was an excellent cook.

My father was retired military. He’d shared with me his love for the outdoors. He’d taught me to hunt and fish as well as to defend myself. No damsel in distress there. He’d made sure I took karate lessons throughout my school-age years, so I could “kick-ass” if I needed to. By the time I’d graduated high school, I was a black belt. In college, I’d pursued Tai Chi as well. I double-majored in Biology, Physiology and minored in Psychology. I’d taken a year off and obtained my EMT licensure. Then I’d gone on to graduate school to finish my studies and earn my DPT (Doctor of Physical Therapy). And I’d wanted to serve my country too. ROTC had helped to pay for college, as well as a few scholarships for military children. Both of my parents had instilled in me a love of service to others.   
Most of my friends didn’t understand my drive for success. I’m not sure if I did either. Having an eidetic memory certainly helped. I’d graduated high school early. My father was quite proud of his “whiz kid”, but would caution me to slow down and not forget to actually live my life. I’d nod and tell him I’d try. My new resolve would last a few weeks and then it would be back to my usual grind. I felt this internal push, like a countdown clock —especially after my mother passed. In all honesty, I think it was my way of coping with grief. I was on a mission. This intensity, combined with my intelligence was intimidating for some (or so I’d been told) and was likely the primary reason that the few romantic relationships I had didn’t last long. I had time, I figured. I was young. I was. At 24, most of my life was still before me. 

  
I shook my head, stretched, and realized that my daydreaming had turned into dozing. Now it was dark and a storm was passing through. Thunder was rumbling and the rain was hissing as the wind pushed it through the chilly air. I pushed back the bedroom curtains and peered out the window toward the backyard. It was a huge yard, the edge of which abutted a cornfield. The trees at the yard’s edge were rocking in the wind and the ancient oak which dominated the view stood as a solid bulwark, but the upper branches and leaves shook. The old tire swing on the biggest and lowest branch, rocked and twirled in the wind. I arose and wandered to my father’s office in the next room over to check the windows. He’d always had the bad habit of leaving the windows cracked—even in the worst weather, because “fresh air never hurt anybody”. Good thing I checked. It was open and raindrops were starting to pool on the sill. As I leaned over his desk to shut it, I noticed that his small office safe was open. That was unusual. He’d told me once that he kept important papers and the deed to the house inside. Why was he going through that stuff? I thought I’d better take a look. Perhaps his will was in there too. However, what I saw on the top of the small pile of folders and papers was a letter, addressed to me: Marlie Joy Ellis. It was dated on the outside 5 months earlier, in his broad scrawl.

  
I tucked the letter quickly into an inner jacket pocket and was almost struck deaf and blind by a loud crack of thunder and lightning. The power went out. Great. Better check the fuse box, I thought. I headed out of the room, turned left, and down the hall to the back porch. What I saw made me gasp. The oak had shattered, split right through the heart of the tree. Emanating from the ragged wound was a shockingly bright, white light. Without a thought, I shoved open the screen door and ran towards it—but in the slick, wet grass I slipped, rolled my right ankle, and topped to the ground, covering my back and one side with mud and dirt. I pushed myself up and limped the rest of the way. Shit. My ankle really hurt. But the vision before me pulled me in. I could not fathom it. The wind gusted, blowing my long hair everywhere, into my mouth and eyes. The rain was beginning to come down in sheets. I limped closer. An ominous humming sound grew in intensity the longer I stood before it. The light seemed to pulse in time to the rapid beats of my heart. Another immense crack of thunder tore through the sky and the ground trembled. I felt myself tipping over and as I reached in automatic reflex to break my tumble, my hand grazed the outer edges of the light source. And I awoke here in a field of sunshine and autumn breezes. But I didn’t know where “here” was.


	2. Out of the Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lace Harding discovers something unusual, writes some letters, and wonders what else may fall from the sky.

Lace Harding P.O.V.

* * *

  
Stinson and I were discussing the latest report out of the Hinterlands from Trevelyan. He’d met with Mother Giselle at the crossroads near Redcliffe and was making his way to Dennet’s farm. It’d worried me when there’d been no news of the man. I grew up near Dennet’s farm and our families were friendly. He’d be a tremendous asset to the Inquisition, whether or not he gave us horses. That man was a wealth of information and contacts, due to his years of service with the Arl of Redcliffe. I was making my rounds to the various Hinterlands camps and sharing the gossip and news. Stinson and his crew were at Dusklight. I was chattering on, but Stinson was distracted. It happened fairly often. I’ve been told I talk enough for two people. But THIS distraction appeared to be more than the usual expression of ebbing interest. His wide-eyed, open-mouthed gape silenced me quickly. I looked out in the same direction and by Andraste, I joined him in gaping. Though it was midday and sunny, a searing white light appeared to hover over the ground—about a mile off. It shimmered briefly, grew blindingly bright for about 10 seconds, and then disappeared as if shuttered. Not a rift, yet like a rift. Wonderful. A new, unwelcome, unwanted mystery.  
“Alert the camp, grab Plunkett and Harlan and let’s get out there!”, I shouted.  
“Yes Ma’am!”, and Stinson was off.

  
It took us about 30 or 40 minutes to locate the correct area. As we cleared through the ground brush to a partial meadow, we all suddenly paused and a hush fell. A huddled form lay on the ground, unmoving and wearing the most outlandish clothes any of us had ever seen. Was it dead? Was it human? I took Stinson and we crept up carefully. As we did so, the figure on the ground moved and groaned. We jumped, looked at each other sheepishly and I stepped forward once more and peered into the face of a human female. She was covered in mud, bruised yet didn’t appear to have weapons. Her long hair was a rat’s nest of mud and leaves. She squinted at me, terribly confused. I moved closer, standing in front of her so that I blocked the sun’s glare. Her eyes widened. I spoke. “Are you all right?” Who are you?” What is your name?”. She shrugged, shook her head, and replied in a language I’d never heard before. Great. No way to communicate. I continued to speak in a calm tone but watched her carefully.

“C’mon, we’ll help you back to camp”. Stinson came forward and helped her stand…by the Maker, she was tall! A bit wobbly on her legs. Her right ankle was not taking her full weight. Plunkett and Harlan approached slowly and we took turns assisting our new guest back to camp. We spoke quietly and encouragingly. At times she appeared to hear something familiar in our speech, by the way, she inclined her head and narrowed her eyes in concentration, but mainly she tried to take things in. We were continually glancing at her and she at us while trying to look like we weren’t looking. Awkward! Back at camp, I asked Plunkett to dig up any appropriate clothes which might fit her, provide water for our guest to bathe, and find her a place in my tent. She didn’t look like a mage or a threat, but she needed to be observed. I decided it was best if I took on that responsibility. The Nightingale would wish it. And she got what she wished! I’d better make my new home base in the Hinterlands here for a while. Rollins, who was KP this week, set out some stew from the pot at the table near the campfire. I trusted Stinson to see that our “guest” got fed after she had time to clean up, and then we could see to her injuries. But for now, it was urgent I write Trevelyan and the Nightingale with dispatch by raven. Our unusual visitor demanded immediate attention. I sighed and shook my head and softly wondered aloud, “What in the name of Andraste’s Mabari was with people (demons, magic, rocks…) falling out of the sky”! Rollins overheard my mutterings and shook her head too. As if we needed more of the unexplainable in our lives!


	3. Mr. Postman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Messages are sent, returned, and sent again. Cullen is EXTREMELY annoyed.

To: Trevelyan  
From: Harding   
9:41 Dragon: 18 Kingsway

  
Official Report:

An unknown person dropped from rift near Dusklight Camp. She’s got cuts, scratches, and bruises or varying degrees, a possible concussion, and a severely sprained ankle. Estimate four to six weeks before full recovery with the ankle. Unsure of concussion severity. Not a mage. Doesn’t speak Common (or any other language we know). Seems willing to learn. Unsure what skills she might have until we establish reciprocal communication. Travel to Haven not recommended at this time. Please advise.

Unofficial Report:

Trev: 

A new visitor dropped out of the sky. Lots of bright, shiny light too—just not the green kind. You’re still unique! She’s doesn’t seem to be from around here though—you should see what she’s wearing! No magic (that we know of). She’s scraped up, perhaps concussed and her ankle looks awful. It’s gotta hurt like the void. She’s willing to listen, not that she understands us yet, but we are getting terrifically good at miming. It could be a new career for me after the Inquisition. Right now she’s able to sit outside has been assisting with our mending and keeping watch. She’ll do any task, as long as she can stay seated while doing it. Mainly, she talks to anyone and everyone in the camp! Her pointer finger is going to fall off, she’s got us naming everything she sees. Soon that woman will be a walking dictionary. But it shows her determination to communicate with us and she’s starting to say some basic words. Rollins is going to send for some children’s books from the Redcliffe market to see if we can get her started with the Common alphabet. She appears to be very intelligent. We all like her. She’s friendly, but I’ve still got too many questions which need to be answered. We can’t take chances. So…How are you? Has Cassandra killed you yet? You are an entertaining friend, so don’t get on her bad side if you can help it! Just can’t find too many Heralds these days!

Lace

* * *

To: Scout Harding  
From: Andrew Tierney Trevelyan

9:41 Dragon: 24 Kingsway

Official Response: 

Our top priority is closing rifts, helping the refugees and of course, getting horses. I’m sure you’ve sent a missive to the Nightingale. I realize that she cannot leave her post, so I am recommending that Commander Rutherford inspect his troops, inspect the watchtowers Dennet wishes us to build, and then make a detour to Dusklight to evaluate our visitor and escort her back to Haven if he feels it worth the effort. 

  
Unofficial Response:

Lace:

These rifts are kicking my ass. We found Dennet, but he’s got us wandering over his farmland hunting demon-possessed wolves AND scouting for watchtower sites. I get it. He needs his home protected if he’s going Haven and manage our herd, but this running around is going to kill me. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Cullen was quite irritated when I wrote to tell him he was in charge of organizing the men, supplies, and plans —did he think I was going to do this?? I’m not an architect! I’m a fire mage! His reply was quite terse. I was offended. If we need the horses as much as he says we do, he’d better get started. 

23 Kingsway  
Postscript: After I read your recent message, I wrote him again and ORDERED Cullen to oversee the endeavor. I think my reasoning is QUITE logical. And he could use a little time away from camp to experience the bear-filled wonders of the Hinterlands. Honestly, it’s like a vacation! I can’t wait to hear back! Besides, he’s so used to micromanaging me that I’m better off with HIM ensuring that the watchtowers are completed “correctly”. I’m sure he and I agree that if you want things done right, you do it yourself! It appears to be his creed. Afterward, he can make his way to Dusklight Camp and ~~inspect~~ , ~~annoy~~ , meet our new visitor. He’s almost more suspicious than Leliana. She can’t leave her post, and Cassandra’s with me, so LOGICALLY, he’s just perfect for the job! After all, Cullen has Rylen, Lysette, and a few others from the Kirkwall crew as officers and NCOs who can train the men just as well as he can. I also informed Leliana of my missive to Cullen. I admit I probably should have had Cassandra (or Varric) read my letter before I sent it off, but, well…I like to live dangerously. I’m sorry. I should be more professional, but it’s a lot less fun. I know. I’ll do better next time. 

Trev

* * *

To: Trevelyan  
From: Rutherford  
9:41 Dragon: 28 Kingsway

Official Response:

Priorities dictate that I MUST remain with the men in Haven to oversee training. My resources are strained to the limit. I will establish a rotation so that teams of men can complete the logistics of planning, moving resources, and building watchtowers without decreasing their effectiveness in combat maneuvers via training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Months and Days in Ferelden:  
> From the Dragon Age Wiki: https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Calendar
> 
> Let me know if I made any timeline/name errors.


	4. Going Postal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets angry in the War Room. Leliana and Josephine smile sweetly.

Going, Postal

Cullen Rutherford P.O.V

Cullen paced in his cabin, his thoughts chasing one another in too many directions. He was fuming! He turned and strode toward the fireplace in the dim morning light and banged his toe into the stool he’d forgotten he moved there last night while he read the last dispatches of the day before bed. He hopped, unthinkingly kicked it in frustration, increasing the pain. SHIT! Well, at least no one was about yet. Trevelyan’s cabin was catty-corner from his and Cassandra’s was directly across. Thank the Maker they traveled often. He’d been forced to accept the cabin due to his station and some quiet convincing nudges from Rylen who said the sounds of his sleep talking and nightmares carried quite well through the tent encampment. No one wanted to wonder why the Commander yelled in his sleep. Cullen didn’t want them to either. But then, THEN they’d gone and given the middle cabin to Trevelyan! Now he was stuck with a neighbor he despised. It was for the Herald’s protection, due to the attempts on his life after they found him in the temple rubble, but he preferred to be with the men—and nowhere near Trevelyan!

  
He picked up the letter at the top of the dispatch pile, still crumpled from where he clutched it angrily in his fist yesterday. How dare that man ORDER HIM to leave camp. He’d sent his response by late-night raven post. Trevelyan understood nothing! No! He would not go! He could not go! Yes, the Inquisition needed horses, thus the watchtowers for Dennet…but really? A “working vacation” as Trevelyan put it? And then a detour to “closely inspect” the new visitor? He’d written several other unsubtle innuendos, which caused Cullen no end of blushing in both embarrassment and anger. Cullen still wasn’t sure he believed it; that a strange woman had fallen from the sky, but one who was not from Thedas. Yet, Harding was trustworthy. She would never make something up. Her professional honor would be at stake. It was true that they needed to investigate this woman. He was sure Leliana had already begun spreading her nets for information. Someone SHOULD meet and assess that this individual was not a threat, but how could he leave when the training was in such a critical place? 

  
Each day he had recruits joining the Inquisition. Any attempt to help gave people hope and direction out of the mess that Ferelden and now Thedas was in. The undercurrent of terror over what would happen if they COULDN’T fix this hole in the sky or stop the Templar/Mage war was palpable—like the sound of one’s pulse as a drumbeat in the quiet of the night. When the temple exploded into the Void taking hundreds with it, he and the others had been thrown into deep water. He was still treading. Cullen was trying to put systems in place from scratch. Any and all Chantry and Inquisition infrastructure had been irreparably damaged after the blast and the Divine’s death. Cullen oversaw training, duty rosters, logistics, requisitions, housing, food, medical assistance and so much more. Josephine focused on gaining noble support and Leliana sent a network of scouts abroad into all the crevices and crannies of Thedas. Cullen knew once he had the systems in place with competent people to lead them, he’d be able to step back and have some breathing room. He was looking for other officers—and healers. Haven had Adan, who was more of a grumpy alchemist, but he was doing his best with the task thrust upon him. Training injuries were common. Adan was not known for his patience but he was better than nothing. Haven was a small village and had no healer of its own, or much of anything else to sustain Inquisition troops. Cullen’s plate was well beyond full.

  
Yet, Trevelyan ordered him to leave. He was frivolous, irritating, flippant, and…Cullen sighed. Going down that road would lead nowhere. He was so TIRED. He massaged his neck, feeling the tension there…it was like a rock. Then there was the issue of the Lyrium withdrawal. What symptoms he’d had thus far were relatively easy to ignore(small headaches, muscle pain, and fatigue)…but He wasn’t sure when they’d escalate or how. He’d begun to suspect his general change in disposition was also a symptom. He knew he’d become more irritable and impatient—he never suffered fools, but in the past, he usually recovered his good humor quickly. Now the irritants never seemed to let up. Since the Chantry didn’t want any of their Templars breaking their Lyrium leash, any record-keeping or help on that score would be minimal or suppressed. Yet, he MUST continue moving forward on this path, though he’d no real idea of where this journey would take him. Ultimately, it was a journey in the dark. There was never going to be a “good” time to quit the Lyrium. It had been no more than a couple of months-since late Justinian-since he’d arrived in Haven. At least Cassandra knew. She’d support him, but it was support from a distance and more related to his Inquisition role than anything else. He was grateful for the confidence she’d shown in him so far. He needed this chance. A part of his soul was terrified he’d fail again. Fail to protect. Fail to see, fail to... Ugh. Too many rabbit holes this morning. He needed to marshal his reserves. Breathe. His usual dawn run, breakfast, and then some time in the Chantry for prayer before he met with his officers. Yes! That would help. He must focus. He glanced down at his fist again. Trevelyan! How in Andraste’s name did HE end up being the sole survivor. No matter. He must be professional and refuse to indulge in this kind of thinking. He was here to help, to advise, and to close that Breach anyway he could. If Trevelyan had the means to do that, then he’d support him to the best of his ability. He just wished he could like the man!

  
At that moment, a messenger knocked on the cabin door. Maker! How long had he been caught up in these thoughts? Cullen bade him enter, and he was told that Leliana had requested a meeting in the War Room after the noon bell. Wonderful! He was certain he could make his case for sending Rylen to the Hinterlands and keep his focus here. Leliana would understand! Thanking the messenger, he quickly shut the door and began his day in earnest.

  
Later that afternoon in the War Room: 

“You can’t be serious, Leliana! This is ridiculous!”, Cullen almost shouted, but managed partway through the utterance to lower his voice when he saw Josephine’s moue of disapproval and narrowing eyes. She did not like it when he shouted. He took a deep breath and tried to center himself.

“Cullen, I know you don’t like Trevelyan, but his idea does have merit”, said Leliana. “I can’t leave my post, I’ve too many scouts and messages to manage…information that we need and requires an instant response! I’m not saying that your tasks are any less important but..”

“But I can’t leave the men!”, Cullen cut in. “ We can’t have an effective fighting force if they are not trained! And the logistics of..”

Josephine coughed gently and interrupted, “Cullen, you do have other officers who might assist. Who better than Rylen? He is your second and I’m sure he’d like to get more leadership experience. You trust him. The men trust him. And there are at least two others I can think of who can share the workload. Delegate! A new mission, away from here, might just give you some new perspective. I know you hardly rest, even when you are off duty, you tend to…”

“But I can’t…”, he started to say.

Leliana interjected, “Cullen, I trust your judgment as I would Cassandra’s in the matter of our visitor. She can’t be there right now. Our Herald, while a fire mage, doesn’t have any combat experience; not that he would, living in the Tower. She must train him to work with a team and develop the professionalism that we all expect. I know he’s a bit wild, and who better than Cassandra to tame him? Together, you two would likely kill each other! I know your impressions and instincts in regards to the character of a person are sound, despite your own doubts. Meredith fooled many, not just you and for a long time. Besides, if our visitor is a threat, we can neutralize her out there, before she comes to Haven and does any lasting damage! 

“But…I”, Cullen stuttered.

“And”, Leliana continued, “You can do me a great favor while you are on your way…”

“A favor..”, he said skeptically.

“Yes. When you take the team with you, you can also take Recruit Keller to Dusklight.”

Cullen swore he saw the barest outline of a smirk on Leliana’s face. “You. Want. Me. To. Take. Recruit. Keller. On a mission? Are you TRYING to kill me? That man is a disaster waiting to happen! This idea is worse than Trevelyan’s!”, Cullen griped.

“But Cullen, You’ve been muttering about Keller since he joined, you can help him fit in. He looks up to you. Perhaps he might do well at Dusklight. Stinson works well with the, um… atypical..types of personalities”, said Josephine diplomatically. “Surely you want what is best for the Inquisition?”, she ended softly.

“NO! JUST NO!”, burst from his lips.

“Cullen, you’re shouting again”, whispered Josephine.

“Cassandra agrees with us, Cullen. Here’s her letter. I sent it to her as soon as I received Trevelyan’s missive. I just received a rushed response early this morning by raven”, she waved it softly in her hand. 

“You both planned this”, he sputtered.  
“You…”, he started.  
“Maker…”  
“FINE!”  
He slapped his palm on the table and mumbled, half ashamed of his outburst, “It’s still going to be few weeks before I can get everything organized and put supplies and people in place.” They both smiled at him sweetly. He knew he’d been managed. Cullen strode forcefully out of the room, almost, but not quite slamming the doors as he headed into the Chantry.

Leliana and Josephine shared a glance.

“Well Leli?”, said Josephine.

“That was close”, Leliana sighed. “ I’m sure Cassandra WILL agree with us when I receive her response. I thought for a moment he might demand to see the letter which is really my market list! That wouldn’t have done! I do think that Cullen will benefit from some time away. He’s like a caged lion, growling and snapping at everyone. He can’t continue this way or he’ll be no good to anyone, least of all himself!”

“I agree Leli. But Trevelyan could go a little easier on him. Did you SEE what he said in that note to Cullen?”, Josephine blushed.

Leliana chuckled, “Yes, it made me laugh, and Cullen’s detests Trev’s brand of humor. He thinks it’s unchivalrous. These past few months have taken a toll on all of us, but Cullen in particular”.

“Are you worried Leli?”

“A bit Josie.”

“So am I. How long has it been?”

“A couple of months.”

“Cullen isn’t aware that we know…”

“No Josie. But what kind of spymaster would I be if I didn’t notice even the small changes in him over the past few months. It’s just like him to do this. He throws his entire being into his every endeavor.”

“What would Cassandra say?”

“That He has to delegate. That He has to take care of himself.”

Josie sighed. “I hope this diversion will nudge him in the right direction and take some of the pressure off of him.”

“I hope so too Josie. I hope so too.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, dialogue is not my strength. I'm still learning. Any suggestions welcome.


	5. A Funny Thing Happened on the way to my backyard OR How I ended up in Thedas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marli adjusts to life in her newfound world!

I groaned and stretched, my gosh, I ached everywhere. My ankle was throbbing. Crusty tangles of hair lay across my aching head. I took a deep, calming breath and as I rolled over I found myself staring into the face of a small freckled woman in some type of outlandish armor, medieval-looking armor. A dwarf? Our eyes caught and we both startled. My mind raced. What the heck? Was this some kind of re-enactment? Then she said words. Completely unintelligible words. I resisted the impulse to smack my ear as I might an old staticky radio. Where was the universal translator when you needed one? Eh? Beam me up, Scotty! Her voice was soft and the lilt and cadence reminded me of German and something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I shrugged and shook my head. “My name is Marli”, I said and pointed to myself. Her eyes widened at my response. Well, I had my work cut out for me now. Figure out where I was AND learn a completely new language. No problem! She had three others with her, standing a bit behind her and to the left. It was clear she was in charge as she ordered a rather large, balding, and gentle-looking man to help me stand. We slowly headed back in the direction they came—to their camp I assumed.  
“Marli”, I said again to the tall man and pointed to myself.

  
He smiled. “Stinson”, he said and pointed to himself. Then he pointed out the others, “Harding, Plunkett, Harlan.” Great! I’d officially had my first “Me Tarzan, You Jane” moment. As I hobbled along with Stinson’s help, I heard the background chatter of the others and felt a frisson of tension and anxiety. I knew nothing of these people or where they were taking me. I had no way to communicate. I had no idea where I was, nowhere on Earth, it seemed. A moment of overwhelming panic welled up in my gut. STOP. Remember your training. Having a panic attack out here in the middle of nowhere will help nothing. Block it out for now. Focus on the present! The people seem friendly—at least they didn’t kill you on sight, which is a definite plus and they seem willing to help. Make friends. Observe. Priority one: Learn the language, make friends, survive. At all costs survive. 

  
Once back at camp—I saw several tents scattered about a central campfire. There was a cooking and prep area and a type of shed for supplies. Other assorted accouterments for an outdoor military camp were scattered about. From the look of it, perhaps 15 people were posted out here in the wilderness. Why were they here? Was this part of a larger outpost? Was there a war? I had so many questions. The dwarf, Harding, rapidly gave orders and went off to another part of the camp.   
Thankfully, I was led to a tent and I sat down with a loud sigh on a battered stool. Shortly thereafter the woman called Plunkett, brought a large bucket of lukewarm water, cleaning rags, and a towel. Someone else entered with a pile of clean clothes, an empty pack, and a bowl of gruel. Perhaps leftover from breakfast? I sipped at it. Not great, but filling. Plunkett indicated she’d be back later to help me with my hair. It was a disaster and I knew I couldn’t wash it by myself. So I smiled and thanked her.  
Gingerly I pulled off my leather jacket, folded it, and placed it on one of the two cots in the tent. I carefully removed my sneakers, socks and peeled myself out of my muddy jeans. God, my ankle was a mess. Swollen and black and blue. It’d probably be at least 4 weeks, maybe more before it got back to normal—IF I stayed off of it. At least it wasn’t broken. I took off

my shirt, bra, and panties. Quite the bruise show. I could rival was a Jackson Pollock canvas. I spied a small mirror on the other cot and inspected my face. Annnd a lovely shiner. Other than that, I was relatively whole and for that I was thankful.   
What HAD happened after I’d touched that tree in my yard? I couldn’t remember much, My head still throbbed and I felt the small lump…I could be concussed, but I didn’t seem to exhibit any serious symptoms. Still…perhaps after some rest, any memories would return. I took the cloth, found some soap in the bottom of the bucket, and started to wash. Plunkett returned just as I was awkwardly dabbing at my back with the washcloth and she assisted. She stayed to help me dress. I really didn’t feel too uncomfortable being starkers in front of a stranger. Many years of sports competitions and ROTC training took care of that type of modesty. The undergarments were going to take getting used to though. There was a bra of sorts. More like a band, but it did have a type of halter strap that went around my neck and back. Not a lot of support, but at least my girls would have something! I was rather fond of my perky girls and was slightly more than averagely endowed. Going braless was not an option for me. The underwear looked like thin linen shorts and were a bit scratchy. Plunkett had also procured me some leather pants, boots, a loose white shirt, a leather vest that laced in the front, and a cloak. We both laughed when I tried on the pants. They were so big I swam in them. We created an impromptu belt out of some rope. The rest of the items, though loose, were serviceable. She’d also brought me a walking stick, more like a crooked branch with the twigs lopped off, but It would keep pressure off my ankle. I thanked her in English. She said something back. “Bitte Shon”. I gestured again to myself and bowed, and said thank you...She got the idea and said again... Danke. I repeated it. She smiled.

  
Now we just had to deal with my hair. She led me outside and I limped along with my stick and she brought me to a rough table near the campfire. There was another bucket of water. I leaned back over the table and she wet my hair down with more soap. Wash, rinse repeat. I closed my eyes during her ministrations. When I opened them I saw that I’d become a minor spectacle in camp. Everyone was curious about me. A small crowd had gathered and was quietly watching the process. What could I do? I laughed and waved. “Marli”, I said and pointed to myself. “My name is Marli!”. That got them excited, and they called out their own names, voices tumbling over one another in a verbal cascade. I’d never remember them all but hey, I was here to make friends and influence people. When Plunkett finished, she patted me dry gave me a comb. I worked slowly through the tangles and then braided it. Much better! 

  
And the days passed. Someone sent to the Redcliffe market for some books—children’s books and an alphabet for me. I studied every day for hours reading, practicing sounds, shapes and writing. Talking, Talking, and talking! I had no time to think about what I’d left behind and was immensely gratified when a few kind souls eagerly helped me while off duty. I assisted in the mundane tasks of running a camp. I was willing to do my share without complaint. At about four weeks in, I pleasantly surprised them all after dinner by making a little speech. Though my accent needed work, I told them my name, that I was a naval medical officer back home, and thanked them all for their many kindnesses to me. They all clapped and I took a small bow.   
Healers were highly valued. My revelation shifted my role in camp. They set up a medical tent for me, complete with a roughly built table at waist height, a place to keep all medical supplies, water basins, cloths, potions—you name it. They were thrilled. I was thrilled! Word spread and I soon had visitors from other Inquisition camps with nonurgent injuries for me to examine. Checking infections, removing stitches, basic first aid. I wondered if I’d ever get to use my physical therapy knowledge. But no matter, I was helping, using my own knowledge and learning theirs too. 

  
By week six I was fairly conversant in Common. I still needed to work on my pronunciation, grammar, and idioms, but I was on my way! I’d gained a basic understanding of the Inquisition’s purpose and understood that a terrible tragedy had occurred at the Conclave in Haven. But I’d seen no magic thus far. I found it hard to wrap my head around the concept of rifts, demons (real ones?), the Mage/Templar conflict, and a Herald with a glowing hand! This was real life—not one of my mother’s fairy tales. Yet, if they could believe I was from another world, I supposed I could believe in magic. Harding now put had all medically related tasks. One evening, she announced to us all that our little camp would have an important visitor in a few days. The Commander of the Inquisition forces was coming to meet me. If I passed inspection, I’d return to Haven with him to assist in the creation of an Inquisition medical corps. During that time he’d make a final determination as to whether I’d be allowed officially into the Inquisition if I chose—and I could decide if I wanted to leave. I’d be on probation. Harding had kept him apprised of my progress and he wanted to use every advantage he had. They needed me. They needed dedicated healers. But they had to be certain I was who I said and not a plant or a spy. Frustrating, but understandable based on what was happening right now. The world was in upheaval. 

  
The nervousness I felt bordered at times on panic. I knew I didn’t know enough about this world to thrive on my own. I was a fish out of water when it came to culture, religion, history, and of course the magic in this place. I had to earn his trust. I’d earned Harding’s, but she wasn’t in charge. I knew her support for me would go a long way in easing his fears. I was grateful. Still, it seemed my future was dependent on this meeting and on one man’s judgment. I just HAD to make a good impression!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition. Not sure if it's my strong suit, but I'll keep plugging away. All of this is my first experience in storytelling so my learning curve is high!

**Author's Note:**

> So it begins. I discovered AOE and Dragon Age Fanfic in 2017 while struggling with a deep depression. Reading so many wonderfully creative stories by other fans was such an encouragement! I've often thought I should try my hand at it and give back to the community...but I was a chicken...and busy teaching...and grading....and being a wife and mom...and chicken. But I started a story a few months ago and then it languished. So I'm jumping in the deep end and posting--with hopes that it will keep me motivated to write and post. I have chapters planned out (at least 15). Updates may be a bit erratic but I'll try to post every two weeks. (I'm still teaching and grading, just online now with the pandemic). I won't abandon the fic...promise! I just hope it provides some amusement and distraction!
> 
> Please feel free to comment (constructively) on any errors you may find or suggestions you may have...I've not written fiction before (not since junior high). I don't have a Beta. I'll do my best to edit.  
> Tell me what you enjoy...
> 
> I'll also try to post some inspirational songs, that I used to help me focus on my writing.
> 
> And of course: All credit to the Dragon Age Universe and characters go to Bioware! Thanks for creating such a great world to play in!  
> Original Characters are my own.
> 
> Writing Playlist:  
> Chapter 1: Wayfaring Stranger by Rhiannon Giddons


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